


Hannibal: Pushing Us Into Self-Destruction

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Series: Hannibal: Forcing Our Darkest Souls to Unfold [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Incarcerated Hannibal, Incarcerated Will, M/M, Minor Violence, Murder Husbands, Post season three, dark!Will, references to cannibalism, references to murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4744160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarice Starling needs help with a case, so she pays a visit to Will Graham, who's incarcerated in the Baltimore Sate Hospital with his partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Edit:** Once a one-shot, now a multi-chapter story.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Hannibal belongs to Bryan Fuller and NBC. The original characters are the property of Thomas Harris. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

He was laying face-down on the bed when Starling stopped in front of the plexiglass. She paused and glanced back down the hall, wondering if maybe he'd smothered himself... no, that seemed against what Crawford had told her about the man. Maybe he was just... in his head.

She took another moment to stare at him- at his off-white jumpsuit, the short mess of curls atop his head, the one arm dangling over the edge of the short, narrow bunk. Then, she cleared her throat and tapped on the glass.

He sat up immediately and turned to face her. She saw the scar first, curling around the right side of his cheek. There was another on his forehead, thin and clean. His face was scruffy, like he hadn't been given the option to shave over two or so days. Then blue eyes met hers, dark and startling, and she almost took a step back. Starling managed to steel herself, though; she'd faced down crazy men before.

Granted, none of them had been incarcerated for murder, cannibalism, and trying to evade FBI custody with their convicted-murderer partner.

'Mr Graham,' she said.

He tilted his head. Blinked. Then a slow smile spread over his face. 'Please, call me Will.' He stood and stretched before rearranging his jumpsuit. 'You're Jack's new pet agent,' he said. Starling tried not to bristle at the nickname. 'I don't know your name,' he continued as he approached the glass, 'Jack didn't give me that much when he mentioned you. Hannibal might know, but he hasn't parted with it.'

Hannibal. Hannibal Lecter, his former psychiatrist/friend turned enemy then lover and... murder husband, as Freddie Lounds had dubbed the two. Graham and Lecter had only managed to kill four people before being caught; their injuries after killing Francis Dolarhyde had slowed them down.

Still, the FBI had stormed a small hotel room and found them eating one of their victims. Starling had to remind herself that Will Graham was a dangerous, deranged man; a psychopath, or just nuts at least. _He looks harmless,_ Carwford had told her only an hour earlier. _And he can easily read you; become your father, your mother, your best friend... you. Don't trust him as far as you can throw him, Starling. In some ways he's worse than Lecter_.

Starling wondered if it was because Graham looked normal in a way Lecter didn't. Lecter could blend in with the people he surrounded himself with... Graham could  _become_ them.

'Clarice Starling,' she finally said, cutting the silence that had fallen.

Graham was still staring at her, and he'd moved closer to the glass, was now standing before the steel table bolted to the floor about a foot from the door that would grant him his freedom if only he could open it. 'Why are you here?' Graham asked. 'And why did Dr Chen let you in? He isn't a pushover like some... other BSHC administrators.'

Starling thought of Dr Chilton, almost completely melted down to his bones, and Dr Bloom, who'd disappeared with her wife and young son soon after Lecter's escape.

'Consulting with psychopaths has never gone... well, for Jack,' Graham added, a quirk to his lips. His eyes had taken on an almost feral look, and Starling swallowed.

'Catching a psychopath is worth the risk of conversing with another,' she stated.

'Ah.' Graham hummed and took two steps back until he could sit on the table. 'And why not consult Hannibal? I've been told that he's easier to get along with than I am.'

Crawford _had_ told her that, actually. The cannibal was more accommodating than the former profiler.

'He's busy,' Starling said. 'Dr Chen told me that his morning's booked.'

Graham smiled again. 'He's releasing a new book,' he said. 'His agent must need him. And this afternoon we have a conjugal visit.'

Starling wet her lips at that. She still remembered the raw rage in Jack Crawford's eyes when he'd told her that; the killers had somehow gotten married after their escape. The marriage licence seemed to be real, despite the fact that both men's faces had been plastered all over the news shortly after Dolarhyde's body had been found.

'Yes,' Starling said.

'So I'm the next best thing,' Graham said. When she looked at him he was grinning, seeming amused.

'I wouldn't say that,' Starling said. 'You were the best at what you did, Mr Graham.'

'Will,' he told her again. 'And yes, I was the best... and look what happened to me.' He gestured around at his cell.

'I think Dr Lecter led to your current situation more than yourself, Mr Graham,' Starling stated.

For the first time since meeting him, Graham's entire demeanour changed _completely_. Suddenly he was standing once more, and there was an energy about him that made Starling want to step back and draw a weapon she didn't have. He approached her once more, got all the way up to the glass and _stared at her_. Starling bit the inside of her cheek to stop a full body shiver as his eyes bored into hers.

'Don't mistake yourself into think that Hannibal's wholly responsible for what I am,' Graham growled at her. 'That was Jack's mistake; poor Will Graham, manipulated by a man he thought he could trust. I was always  _damaged_ , Agent Starling. I won't deny that Hannibal played a role in bringing my darker urges to the surface. But I was always capable of things that would haunt you at night. Hannibal simply gave me a push or two.'

Starling lifted her chin and kept her gaze on his. 'Are you saying that you would have become a cold-blooded murderer even if you hadn't met Dr Lecter?'

Graham's lips twisted into a feral grin, and he said, 'Oh, I  _definitely_ would have become a killer, even without Hannibal's influence. I just would have killed more people before I was caught; I would have made art before the FBI caught onto me. I wouldn't have eaten my victims' organs, though. That's Hannibal's personal signature.'

Her coffee threatened to make a reappearance. Starling had studied the Lecter case, the Graham case, the Lecter-Graham case. Their files were thick and took up their own filing cabinet as well as a number of folders on every FBI computer. Their murders were studied by FBI trainees at the Academy. It was both a subject and a warning; don't let killers get to you, look what you could become. Don't trust someone just because they  _seem_ nice.

Psychopaths look just like us.

Graham leaned back from the glass and pasted another smile on his face. His shoulders drooped and his face adapted an overall look of compassion and softness. It seemed to say,  _Me? You can trust me. I wouldn't hurt a fly. Look how fuzzy I am_ .

Once again, Crawford's warnings blared in Starling's ears.

Starling decided to cut to the chase, not wanting to spend more time than necessary with Will Graham. 'Would you be willing to consult on a case I'm currently working?' she questioned. She held up the file she'd brought and Graham's eyes briefly flicked to it.

'Working on,' he echoed. 'Are you a fully-fledged agent, Miss Clarice Starling? Or a trainee?'

She paused before deciding to go with honesty; 'Trainee. I'll be graduating soon.'

Graham's eyebrows shot up and then he _laughed_. 'A trainee?' He chuckled, then, and shook his head. 'Oh, you're very lucky that Hannibal's busy.'

'And why is that?' she asked.

'He would be furious,' Graham said. He went back to sit on the table and swung his legs like he didn't have a care in the world. He probably didn't, now that Starling thought about it. There were a lot of books in his cell, as well as fishing lures tucked away in the corner. What else did Graham have to do to pass away the long days spent locked up? 'Jack sent me after him, and I was his friend, his partner, his... becoming, you could say,' Graham said. 'You? You're fresh, and young, and you have  _no_ idea what you've walked into.'

He held up a hand to forestall the comment she was about to make.

'I'm not saying that you aren't fully capable, Agent Starling,' he said. 'You could be the best agent the FBI Academy ever produces; I don't care enough to look to closely. But you're a  _trainee_ . Hannibal wouldn't appreciate Jack throwing you at him, at us... he'd find it despicably rude.' Graham tilted his head as he stared at her. 'We both know what Hannibal does with rude people, Agent Starling.'

He tilted his head the other way, hummed.

'Mr Graham?'

'Your parents died when you were young, didn't they?' he commented. Starling stiffened. 'No,' he then corrected himself. 'Just one... father?' She must have done something- shifted, twitched an eye, _something_ \- because he nodded. 'Father. And your mother left when you were young. Not dead, but gone. You like to prove yourself, don't you? You're completely capable, have _made_ yourself completely capable, and never back down from a challenge. And you aren't _afraid_ of a challenge, which is why you're standing here, asking me to consult on a case, when Jack could have easily asked himself.'

Graham smiled. 'Jack doesn't like visiting me, Agent Starling. I'm both a failure and a reminder that he missed what I really am- missed what  _ Hannibal  _ really is.' He paused, then added, 'I don't like that he's sent you. You're going to end up too old for your years; broken before you have a chance to live. It happens to most FBI agents; you can't work brutal murders and remain sane. But usually you get a few good years in.'

He hopped off the table and approached the door before Starling could utter a word. 'Give me the file,' he ordered.

Starling felt shaken, but tried not to show it. There was a steel tray in the door that slid out, and she placed the folder into it before closing and locking it. She watched Graham open the tray from his side and lift the folder out. He flicked through the photos and notes while she stared at him.

She'd lost complete control of this confrontation, and Starling wasn't sure how to get that control back. Had she ever had it in the first place? Crawford had warned her that Graham was... odd, highly intelligent, brutal and blunt. But he hadn't mentioned how utterly  _ hopeless  _ she'd feel in his presence after a few simple sentences.

'Hmm.' Graham started humming and muttering as he stared at the file. He did that for a minute, two, before placing the file on his desk. He spread the photos of the crime scenes out and placed his hands, palms flat, on the far edges of the table. His back to her, Starling watched him breathe in deeply and then go completely still.

More minutes passed- Starling glanced down at her watch every few minutes, until twelve went by. Then Graham gasped and seemed to come back to himself; he slid the photos back into the file and turned to face her.

'A man, late thirties, he doesn't consider himself human.' Graham paused. 'But he doesn't know  _ what  _ he is, thus he's killing people and creating animals, objects.' He waved the file at her. 'He sees some people as human, some as animals, some as  _ things _ . He hates them, because to him they know what they are, and he can't handle that. He needs to figure out  _ what  _ he is or he'll never be complete. He won't stop killing until he knows what he is.' He raised his eyebrows at her.

Starling wasn't sure what she wanted him to say until he put the file back in the tray.

'He'll keep killing because he'll never figure out what he is,' she realised.

Graham smiled at her. 'He's human, as much as he doesn't believe it,' he commented.

'Do you know where we might find him?' Starling asked.

'No,' Graham said. 'He's targeting random people; there won't ever be a pattern, because his psychosis is making him see most people  _ as  _ people. He isn't going to kill a “proper human”, as he would dub them.' He paused and then placed his hands on the glass, leaning closer. 'I'm afraid I can't help you beyond that, Agent Starling,' he said. His eyes held hers. 'But Hannibal can. Why don't you come back and see him tomorrow? He'll be free then.'

Starling didn't want to see Lecter. She'd been told that he was slightly easier to speak with than Graham, but she was already regretting talking to the this man. She didn't want to talk to Lecter as well...

But Starling had never backed down from a challenge. And breaking this case could be the start of a great career.

'I will,' she finally said. Graham grinned at her, and she felt like she'd lost whatever game Graham had been playing with her. 'Thank you for your help, Mr Graham.'

'Any time, Agent Starling,' he responded. 'I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.'

She took the file back and walked away, aware of Graham's eyes on her the entire time. She turned to look into Lecter's cell as she left; it was opposite Graham's, the entire floor having been redesigned after Lecter's first escape.

It was empty, identical to Graham's, but with more books as well as art supplies and drawings taped to the far wall.

Starling made her way downstairs, nodding at the orderlies, then security when she collected her belongings. Starling stepped out of the building and shivered despite the heat. She felt like she'd just met the devil, despite Graham's generally affable nature whilst talking to her. She felt like a piece of her had been left behind...

Or taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS IS! I saw fan art on Tumblr– [link](http://ibegto-dreamanddiffer.tumblr.com/post/128509608630/idontfindyouthatinteresting) – and I just wrote this...I haven't seen anything of Hannibal season three beyond half of episode one, but thanks to Tumblr I more or less know what happens, so... yeah. I don't know, dudes. Just read and enjoy... or don't, whatever floats your boat...
> 
> I need to stop writing after staying up for two days straight.
> 
> IBegToDreamAndDiffer


	2. Chapter 2

Will was in his head, standing in the river, as he thought about Clarice Starling. She was so young and... _good_. Will had to wonder what it was about her that Jack liked; or disliked, rather. Why else would he put a trainee in the same room as Hannibal Lecter? Will knew that she'd wanted to see Hannibal; had been stuck with Will because Hannibal was in a meeting. But still, Jack would have known that Will would be there, in the other cell, listening and throwing his two cents in.

Yet Jack had still sent her, little Clarice Starling, to face down two monsters. Was she really that good? Did she really show that much promise? Or had Jack lost it completely?

Strains of some song Will had heard in Hannibal's house drifted down the river, and he hummed along. He'd have to ask Hannibal the name of the piece when the doctor returned.

' _Hmm... hmm... hm..._ '

Agent Starling was bright. Smart. Driven. She wanted to make her mark, put her name down in FBI history. It might happen, but Will doubted it. And it wasn't because Starling wasn't good at her job, or weak. It was because she'd return to talk to Hannibal.

Will had given her ample opportunities to run; to turn her back on this case, on Hannibal Lecter, and never return. Instead she'd met his gaze and stood her ground. He'd even asked her to call him Will. Not towards the end, though, when she'd implied that Hannibal was solely responsible for what Will had become. That had... annoyed him. Made him feel cheap. Made what he and Hannibal had together  _cheap_ .

And for that Will was going to sit back and watch Clarice Starling die. Maybe not in the typical, brain function stopping, going off to heaven or hell or just into the ground kind of death; but Clarice Starling  _would_ die. As soon as Hannibal saw her, caught a whiff of her, she would be as good as dead. Because Hannibal wouldn't stop poking and prodding, trying to figure out why Jack had sent her. And he'd be so  _insulted_ that Jack had sent a trainee in the first place.

Yes. Hannibal would have his fun. He'd play with Starling's head, send her off down dark alleys without a weapon. He'd point her in the direction of serial killers and not tell her that she reeked of prey.

_Poor Clarice Starling,_ Will thought as the song swelled to a crescendo. Fish dodged between his legs, trying to escape the dark shadow looming over Will, growing larger by the second.  _Hannibal will eat you alive,_ Will thought.  _And not in the fun way._

The shadow finally drew Will's eye, and the former profiler turned and peered up into the pitch black eyes of the wendigo. Its horns towered over him and Will inhaled deeply; he could smell the strong iron odour of spilled blood.

Will's eyes slid open and he stared up at the ceiling. Beyond his cell he heard Hannibal's handcuffs being taken off, dragged back through the narrow flap cut into one wall.

'Hello, Hannibal,' he said.

'Good afternoon, Will,' Hannibal replied.

 

{oOo}

 

Hannibal rubbed one wrist absentmindedly as he stared through his cell and into Will's. The younger man was standing now, stretching, tugging at the jumpsuit both had to wear. His shoes were tucked beneath his bunk, so when he walked across the cell he didn't make a noise. Hannibal smiled as Will came to lean against the concrete wall in the far corner, one shoulder brushing the plexiglass. Hannibal walked along his own until he could face Will head-on.

'How has your day been?' Will questioned.

'Good,' Hannibal said. 'My book should be published in six or so months. My agent still hasn't received permission to use certain pigs' names.'

Will smirked at him. ' _Victims_ , Hannibal,' he said. 'The family's think of them as your victims.'

'They were pigs,' Hannibal said dismissively. It earned him a chuckle from Will. 'But enough about that. I heard that you had your own visitor.'

Will hummed. 'Yes and no,' he said. Hannibal raised his eyebrows. 'She was here for you, but settled for me.'

'Oh?'

Will nodded. 'Clarice Starling, an agent for the FBI.'

'Ah.' Hannibal tilted his head as he slid his arms behind his back, fingers catching around one wrist to hold them in place. 'And what did Uncle Jack want this time?'

'Help,' Will said, 'nothing new there.'

'Him sending an agent is,' Hannibal commented. Jack hadn't done so for quite a few years, now. Zeller and Price had made appearances in the beginning, though Zeller had apparently refused to return after having had to speak to both of them. Price had always held his own well, somehow managing to see the differences between the old Will and Hannibal he knew and the new ones. Hannibal liked him.

After Zeller's refusal to return, Price's failure at getting anything out of them, Jack had sent two other agents. Hannibal and Will had played with them so much that one had quit the FBI all together. The other had relocated herself to behind a desk.

Jack had had to come then, his large body tense, his eyes dark and narrowed. He rarely got far with Hannibal and Will. The couple had too much fun antagonising him.

'Yes,' Will agreed. 'But this was different.'

'How so?'

Will paused, staring at Hannibal through the two sheets of glass that separated them. If it wasn't for their court-ordered conjugal visits, they would have escaped by now. Hannibal had plans upon plans for his and Will's eventual freedom, and Will had quite a few himself. But for now, both were... content, to remain where they were.

'Will?' Hannibal prodded when his partner failed to answer.

Will sighed and slouched against the wall. 'I warned her, you know. She's so young.'

'Are your morals making a re-appearance, Will?'

'No.' Will snorted. 'Well,' he then corrected, 'perhaps. You know me; I always like to help.' Hannibal inclined his head. 'I'm not sure if I should tell you now. It might ruin our afternoon.'

Hannibal remained silent. He would let Will make his own mind up. In the past that had been unacceptable, but only because Hannibal had enjoyed guiding and moulding Will into what he wanted; a partner, another monster, someone to share his dark world with. Now, Will was all of that and so much more. Hannibal didn't want a toy, and Will wasn't one.

So he was silent, waiting, as Will stared at him and thought.

'She's a trainee,' Will finally said.

Hannibal went still at that. There was a certain amount of... rage, now licking at his mind. A trainee. Like Miriam Lass. Granted, Lass had been the first to get close to Hannibal, though it was mostly luck on her part and Hannibal's refusal to let her leave his office alive. But still... perhaps Jack believed that a trainee could break Hannibal and Will. Because she had never worked with them, not like Zeller and Price. Hannibal hadn't murdered one of this Starling's colleagues, and Will hadn't betrayed one.

Perhaps she showed promise, Hannibal mused; perhaps she was like Will, able to see Hannibal and continue to come back.

Of course, Hannibal didn't want another Will. He could use a distraction, though; a game. Starling might be a nice... toy.

'I see,' he finally said.

Will sighed and slouched further against the glass. 'I tried to warn her,' he repeated. Hannibal smiled. He adored Will. 'I even asked her to call me Will.'

'And?'

'She refused,' Will said and looked at him. Hannibal understood, even without words; Will had tried to get her to turn tail, run away and never return. He had tried to keep her safe from Hannibal and himself. Starling mustn't have taken the bait.

'She will be returning?' Hannibal asked.

Will nodded. 'She can't back down from a challenge,' he said. 'She won't let herself. An admiral trait, of course, but when coupled with working for the FBI...'

'She will be broken,' Hannibal finished for him. Will nodded again. 'I see. And what are your plans now?'

Will shrugged as best he could, body still pressed between the glass and wall. 'I tried to warn her and she didn't listen. What happens now will happen.'

Hannibal smirked. 'An early birthday present? You spoil me, Will.'

Will barked out a laugh. 'Well, we have no visits planned for either of our birthdays. This is all I can give you.'

'I wouldn't mind a fishing lure,' Hannibal mused.

Will snickered at that. The lures he was allowed were made of a soft plastic rather than steel. Anything that Will and Hannibal could use as a weapon wasn't allowed. Hannibal was given his pencils, though he had to show them to the guards and pack them away before he was let out of his cell. Will was only allowed plastic, string and feathers for his lures.

Of course, there was a lot that Will could make out of plastic and string. There was a lot that Hannibal could  _do_ with plastic and string.

'How long until our conjugal visit?' Will asked.

Hannibal shifted. 'An hour, perhaps.'

Will hummed.

'When will Starling be returning?'

'No later than tomorrow,' Will said. 'She wants to break the case.'

'And what case is that?'

'A man who doesn't see himself as human,' Will told him. 'He's killing things, objects; people who he thinks know exactly what they are.' Hannibal went silent at that, eyes on Will's shoulder. He shuffled through the various people he had met and catalogued over his life, soon settling on the image of a young man shovelling snow out of his driveway. 'You know him,' Will said after a beat.

Hannibal smirked. Their conversations were always recorded, even when they spoke French and Spanish to each other. Dr Chen wasn't like Chilton, though. He didn't spy, but he saved everything and had others review it. He didn't keep everything they said close to the vest, didn't sell it to the media or Freddie Lounds. That was the only reason Hannibal wouldn't go out of his way to murder the man or play with him. Dr Chen was... a good person, he and Will both agreed. He would be allowed his life when the time came.

Unless Hannibal had no choice but to kill him, of course.

'I do,' Hannibal finally allowed. 'Or I believe that I do.'

Will raised his eyebrows in question.

'A young man who lived near you, actually; twenty minutes or so down the road.'

'Of course,' Will sighed. 'I attract psychos.'

'And you enjoy it, dear Will,' Hannibal drawled.

Will snorted and looked at him, blue eyes hot. 'Sometimes,' he allowed. He blinked, and the heat was gone. 'Who is he?'

'A confused young man who had a very interesting childhood,' Hannibal said. 'We all play games as children, even those of us who aren't quite like others. There will be records.'

'And will you share these records with Agent Starling?'

Hannibal allowed a smile to spread over his face. 'I will share everything with Miss Starling.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Ah, here we are; more, like so many of you wanted. I want to make it clear here that I have no plans to turn this story into Hannibal/Will/Clarice. I can see why people would enjoy reading it, but I never want to, therefore I will never write it.
> 
> So, I hope you people want more chapters; I've written them all, so I'll just post one a day until they're all up. Hopefully writing more doesn't ruin the story.
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> Dreamer


	3. Chapter 3

Clarice Starling didn't fidget as she was ushered into Dr Chen's office. The man's assistant closed the door behind her.

'Ah, Agent Starling.' Dr Chen stood from his desk, rounded it and stuck a hand out. Starling shook it. 'It's good to see you again, however dark the circumstances.' He looked at the file in Starling's hands.

'Yes, well...' she shrugged a shoulder. 'The FBI does whatever it can to solve all crimes.'

'Yes.' Dr Chen frowned. He was a small man, but solid, his black hair cut short. He hummed and went back to sit behind his desk, then gestured for her to sit before him. Starling didn't want to- she wanted to get this day over with as quickly as possible- but she sat anyway. 'I understand that you're here to see Dr Lecter.'

' _Mr_ Lecter could have information that would help the FBI substantially,' Starling said. She made sure to use the killer's correct title; his medical licence had been revoked, after all. The media still tended to call him Dr Lecter when they weren't going with “Hannibal the Cannibal”. Probably because the man still wrote for various medical and psychological journals.

'I understand that,' Dr Chen said, apparently not really caring about Lecter's title. 'However, I'm sure that you've heard about others who have... consulted Dr Lecter.'

Starling nodded. Of course she'd heard. The media had gone into a frenzy the first time Jack Crawford had consulted the murderer, especially since Freddie Lounds had tried to interview both Lecter and Graham afterwards. They'd sent her scuttling away quickly, but a few juicy sound bites had made it onto the woman's website.

'I'm a doctor first and foremost, Agent Starling,' Dr Chen continued after a beat, 'and when I see people developing destructive habits-'

'You think my consulting with Mr Lecter is a destructive habit?' Starling cut in.

Dr Chen nodded. 'Hannibal Lecter is a brilliant doctor, Agent Starling. Psychotic, of course, but that doesn't take away the fact that he graduated top of his class at Johns Hopkins. He's an expert at manipulating and reading people. At least five serial killers in the Maryland area alone have been attributed to him, and that's not counting Will Graham.'

He sighed and leaned forward to thread his fingers together, forearms resting atop his table. 'If Dr Lecter wants to play with you, he will. The fact that you've come back after consulting Mr Graham will be enough to catch his interest. I've seen what he does to people; I've been through it myself. I think the only reason I haven't quit yet is because Dr Lecter respects me, at least a little.'

'Why do you think that is?' Starling asked, curious despite herself. She'd been under the impression that Lecter didn't respect... anyone. Other than Will Graham, of course.

'I'm not rude,' Dr Chen shrugged. 'I treat him like a human being. I never forget _what_ he is, but I don't go out of my way to antagonise him. Dr Lecter respects manners. That doesn't mean that he _likes_ me. And I have no doubt that he'd kill me if he could.'

Dr Chen didn't seem... upset about that fact. Just reluctantly accepting. Starling didn't know if she'd survive Dr Chen's job. Spending all her time around murderers like Lecter and Graham? No, thank you. Once she caught them, she was done.

Except for now. Starling really had no choice. She wanted to be a field agent within the year, and getting Lecter to talk, cracking the case,  _catching_ the serial killer, would do a lot for her career; Crawford had practically told her that he wanted her on his team if she could just get this case solved. If that meant that she had to play Lecter and Graham's games, then so be it.

'I'm sorry you feel that way,' Starling finally said slowly, choosing her words carefully. 'But I need to speak with Mr Lecter. Mr Graham wasn't able to give me enough information, and I have the feeling that Lecter knows more.'

Dr Chen surveyed her for a few seconds, dark eyes running over her face, searching for something. He must have found it eventually- her strength, her conviction, whatever it was- because he sighed and leaned back.

'He does know something,' the doctor said. He reached for one of his drawers, pulled it open and extracted a thin manilla folder. 'When Dr Lecter was returned to his cell, he and Graham spoke for a while before their conjugal visit. Graham mentioned you, the case, and Lecter said he was aware of the killer you're hunting.'

Starling's eyes lit up and she had to stop herself from eagerly reaching for the folder. Dr Chen eyed her again but slid the file over, not letting go when Starling finally reached for it.

'I can't stop you from speaking to him, Agent Starling,' Dr Chen said. 'The FBI has full access unless Dr Lecter and Mr Graham state otherwise. Even then, they would need to appeal to the court to have the FBI- and Jack Crawford- banned from interacting with them.' He paused, his lips twitched. 'Of course, they have other ways of getting rid of unwanted visitors.'

He shook his head and let go of the file, leaning back in his seat. 'I want you to always remember what they are, Agent Starling. If Dr Lecter can use you, he will. Mr Graham will become you and make you wish that you'd never met him. Together they are far more dangerous than they are separately.' He paused again and tapped at one arm. 'They'll both be there, when you go to see Dr Lecter. If you get what you need, please reconsider ever coming back; I trust that the FBI can find killers without Lecter's input.'

Starling noted that Dr Chen didn't say _without Graham's input_. Maybe he knew, like Carwford, that Will Graham was and always would be the best at what he'd done; nobody could profile like Will Graham simply because of his empathy disorder, his ability to fill in the blanks with the correct answers. Crawford's catch rate wasn't nearly as high as it had been when Graham had been working for him. It probably never would be.

The worst mistake Crawford had ever made, Starling thought, was putting Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter in a room together. Graham had been exposed to Lecter too soon, in a safe environment that let Lecter get his claws in. If they hadn't met then, they would have met when Graham eventually caught Lecter. Then Lecter would have been locked up, and Graham could have gone back to ignoring his... what did he call them? His  _darker urges_ .

Shaking her head, Starling slid the file off of the desk and flipped it open. There were two pages of white paper, stapled together. On the first page was a summary of Lecter and Graham's conversation the day before. On the second was a transcript.

Starling skipped through it, eyes roaming over the words, only pausing when something jumped out at her.

When she was done she flipped it shut and stood. Dr Chen did, too. 'Thank you for your cooperation, Dr Chen,' Starling said and shook his hand.

Dr Chen nodded. 'Remember what I said, Agent Starling.'

Starling didn't say a word as she left, though did toss a fake smile at Dr Chen's secretary.

There were two orderlies, dressed in white scrubs and carrying mace and batons, waiting for her in the hallway. They both nodded to her and gestured for Starling to follow them.

 

{oOo}

 

They made their way through the building quickly; it took only five minutes, maybe more, for Starling to be standing where she had been the day before; at the beginning of the hallway, plexiglass either side of her. She took a deep breath and shuffled the folders in her hands; one with the case notes, the other what Dr Chen had given her.

Another breath and Starling's heartbeat had steadied. She'd already spoken to Graham, and though he had shaken her more than she cared to admit, she  _knew_ that she could do this. She'd survived once, she could do it again. Besides, Crawford had said that Graham was worse than Lecter. At least Lecter would be polite.

She walked down the hallway, glancing at Graham's cell first. The man was lying on his bunk again, face-up this time, eyes closed and one hand waving through the air. The other was curled on his stomach. He was freshly shaved, now.

Starling stopped in the middle of the hall and turned, finally, to face Dr Lecter's cell.

The man was there, sitting at his desk sketching something on a large, thin piece of paper. He continued to sketch while Starling stared at him, but the agent was under no illusions; Lecter knew that she was there, he was simply taking his time. Playing her, perhaps, or seizing control in the only way he could.

A few seconds ticked by before the man looked up. His hair was shorter than in the photos the media constantly printed; it was greyer, too, the silver locks quickly overtaking the ashen brown that had been present in his trial photos. He had a new scar under his jaw, thick and starkly white against his olive skin. Starling wondered where he'd gotten it.

He was still a big man; not bulky, no, but his shoulders were broad and there was power in his arms, hidden beneath his jumpsuit as they were. When he cocked his head at her Starling was reminded of a lizard, nostrils flaring or tongue flicking out to taste the prey.

Starling wasn't prey. She wouldn't let herself be.

Lecter finally tore his eyes away from her, put his pencil aside, and stood.

'Forgive me,' he said in his smooth, accented voice. Starling had only ever heard it on TV, when Lecter had took the witness stand to speak about his kills, later his and his husband's. His voice was still strong. 'That was terribly rude.' He moved to stand before his table, directly before Starling, and held his arms loosely behind his back. 'Dr Hannibal Lecter,' he introduced himself as. 'And you must be Agent Starling. Will has told me all about you.'

Starling heard a chuckle from behind her and took a chance; she turned slightly, just enough to eye Graham through his cell. The man hadn't moved an inch, and his eyes were still closed.

'Will is currently in his river,' Lecter said, drawing Starling's attention. 'Forgive him if he doesn't join us just yet. Sometimes he will.'

'He knows that I'm here?' Starling asked. She'd heard about Lecter's mind palace, Graham's cruder, but just as effective, method of climbing into his own head. She wasn't sure how much of the physical world the two men could ignore in favour of memories and good times.

Lecter cocked his head again. 'Will is aware of everything, when he wants to be,' he said. 'He wants to be.'

Starling nodded slowly then cleared her throat. 'I'm sure you know why I'm here, Mr Lecter.'

She glanced up quickly, wanted to see Lecter's reaction- he was simply staring at her, waiting, looking only mildly curious. 'The case you are currently working for Jack Crawford,' Lecter prompted when Starling remained silent.

'Yes,' Starling said. 'What has your husband told you?'

Lecter's lips quirked as he said, 'I'm sure that Dr Chen shared mine and Will's conversation with you. Please don't be rude, Agent Starling.' He licked his thin lips, and then his eyes rolled lazily down Starling's body, like he was checking her out rather than sizing her up. Starling seriously doubted that it was the former.

'My apologies,' Starling said. She had been made aware, quite thoroughly by Crawford, that Lecter abhorred rudeness. She didn't want him to clam up before she had a chance to really speak to him. 'Would you be willing to look at the file I brought?' she questioned.

Lecter hummed, and then nodded. 'I don't need to,' he revealed, 'but I would enjoy seeing his work.'

Starling hesitated, but decided to show Lecter the file anyway. If he got his rocks off to it, well... as long as he gave her the killer's name, or a place to start looking, she didn't care.

Lecter had just opened the file when Graham spoke up; 'Jesus, Hannibal, don't give the poor trainee the wrong idea.' Starling turned to see Graham standing, stretching out his body. 'Jack will start to think that you  _do_ get off on this stuff.' He clicked his tongue. 'There are already enough psychiatrists trying to study us.'

Lecter chuckled. 'I must have my fun, Will. And Jack is the very best toy.'

Starling bristled slightly, and Graham smirked at her. He could probably read it in her body language; she found herself not caring. Crawford was a great agent who'd been dealt too many heavy blows. First his wife, then Lecter, and finally Graham... Starling was surprised that the man was still functioning.

'Are you and Jack close, Trainee Starling?' Graham asked.

Starling breathed out slowly. 'Not particularly,' she said. It was true; she considered Crawford a good man, a mentor for her, in a way. But she wasn't his friend.

'I see,' Graham mused. 'He's not making the same mistakes, then.' His eyes flashed over Starling's shoulder.

'He learned from you, my dear Will,' Lecter murmured. Starling turned; Lecter's eyes were still on the crime scene photos.

'He got  _too_ close, Trainee Starling,' Graham said. Starling turned to face him again, hated herself for it. She didn't want to have her back to either man while they were talking; it would be rude, and she felt too much like a cowering animal turning its back on a much too large predator. Both men were locked up, true. But that didn't stop them from looking at her,  _seeing_ her.

Crawford was right; the two of them, together, was much worse then speaking to them separately.

'There are rooms within this institute,' Graham continued, 'you can speak to either of us alone, if you wish.'

Starling forced herself not to narrow her eyes, to keep her body relatively lax. She wouldn't play their games. 'I'm fine speaking to you together, Mr Graham.'

Graham smiled. 'You aren't,' he said, 'but good effort. I'd applaud you if it wouldn't be so..'

'Ghastly?' Lecter offered.

Graham rolled his eyes. 'I wasn't talking to you, Hannibal. Stop being rude.'

Lecter laughed. 'My apologies, sweet Will.'

Graham rolled his eyes again and sat on his table, legs swinging like they had the first time. 'Is Jack coming to visit soon, Trainee Starling?' The title rolled off of his tongue and Starling, once again, had to control herself. On this case she was Agent Starling; she had the badge, the paperwork. It was temporary, yes, but she was still  _Agent Starling_ .

Graham was just reminding her of what she really was, Starling thought; another way to play her, to make her think about things she'd rather not while in the company of these men. What was he trying to accomplish, exactly? Remind her of how young she was? How inexperienced? How Graham had been a  _proper_ agent, if not, technically, a  _field agent_ ?

Perhaps all of the above, she thought.

'His work is rather... heavy-handed,' Lecter commented, and Starling turned her back on Graham; let him think what he wanted. 'But it has a certain flare to it that could be beautiful if he simply had a helping hand.'

'Another pet project, Hannibal?' Graham asked.

Lecter looked up, past Starling. There was something in his eyes that Starling hadn't seen yet; warmth, maybe. Love, perhaps. If a man like him was capable of such emotion.

'You know all of my projects, Will,' Lecter said. 'This one would have been... interesting, certainly. But he was nothing more than a passing thought.'

'You know him?' Starling asked, even though she already knew the answer.

'I saw him once, in session, and I know that he lived relatively close to Will,' Lecter revealed. 'However, he was too raw, too young. Far too blunt in what he wanted. I didn't have the time, nor the inclination, to help him grow. I referred him to someone else.'

'Who?' Starling asked. She had a pen on her, papers in the file Dr Chen had given her. She flipped it open as she slid her pen from her pocket.

Lecter looked amused, but he said, 'Doctor Elizabeth Craig.'

'Craig?' Graham demanded. 'Craig's an awful therapist.'

'There are no good therapists for you, Will,' Lecter countered. 'Dr Craig has her moments.'

'She's a bigot,' Graham snorted. 'Funny, how a therapist could miss that about themselves.'

'It's not wise to label yourself,' Lecter said.

'Not that you didn't try,' Graham shot back.

Starling took a step back and turned so that she could survey both of them. Lecter was still standing before his table, file in hands; Graham was slouched back on his, legs going back and forth, back and forth.

'How would you label me,  _Dr_ Lecter?' Graham drawled.

Lecter grinned rather sharply. 'A diamond amongst the rough, dear Will.'

'A blood diamond?' Graham asked.

'Hardly,' Lecter said. 'You would shine with a thousand colours.'

Graham laughed and looked at Starling. 'See how poetic he is? My husband, Trainee Starling.'

Starling tried to smile; she was pretty sure it came out a grimace.

'And my husband, Agent Starling,' Lecter said, hummed a bit. 'Never let it be said that Will cannot be blunt with anybody, even his own spouse.'

'I like taking you down a peg or two,' Graham told him, 'you know that, dear, sweet husband of mine.' He fluttered his eyelashes and Lecter chuckled. Starling felt her skin crawl.

'Can you give me the name of your former patient?' Starling finally asked, hoping to get back to the reason she was here. While she didn't doubt that Lecter and Graham would keep her for as long as they fancied, she didn't want to just give in; she's push back just as hard.

'He was never a patient,' Lecter corrected.

'You say that a lot,' Graham muttered.

Lecter sighed, looking thoroughly put out. 'Will, as I've told you, you were never officially my patient.' His eyes swivelled to Starling. 'Uncle Jack made sure of that.'

'That didn't mean that you could play with my head,  _Dr Lecter_ ,' Graham muttered.

'Your head is too beautiful to leave as it is,' Lecter said.

'Still playing games with me?' Graham asked, raising his eyebrows.

'But of course,' Lecter  _purred_ . 'We all have our faults, William.'

'Don't call me William,' Graham growled.

Lecter just smiled serenely at him, and Starling was sure that Graham wanted to flip his husband off. But that would be rude.

'Mr Lecter?' Starling prompted. 'The name?'

Lecter's shoulders stiffened just a fraction, and Graham chortled. Starling, once again, turned her back on him. For now, she felt like Lecter was the bigger predator. And the information he had was the reason she was here.

Lecter looked up at her and just stared for a minute, two. Starling held his eye contact, didn't want to look away, but she was still the one who broke it. She looked down at her papers, tried to pass her break off as her simply wanting to check over her information. She heard Graham laugh; she must have failed.

'Will tells me that you're an orphan, Agent Starling,' Lecter said.

Starling stood taller. 'Not really,' she said.

'Your father died when you were young,' Lecter said.

Starling wanted to sigh. 'Yes, he did.'

'How?' Lecter asked. When Starling remained silent, the former doctor said, 'Come now, Agent Starling. I'm sharing information with you, even though I don't have to. It only seems polite to share information with me.' He paused to look over her shoulder. 'Of course, we could simply  _take_ ...'

Starling couldn't help it; she turned to look at Graham, who was staring her, blue eyes slightly dazed.

'You never truly got to say goodbye, did you?' Graham murmured. 'The last time you saw him wasn't supposed to be the last time. He was doing something routine; work, a visit, something so  _simple_ . But he walked away, or drove away, and that was all you saw. Your father was never there again, such a strong presence, such an  _important presence_ , snuffed out before his time. It made you mad, didn't it, Trainee Starling? Because it wasn't fair, it was something so  _routine_ , and you should have had more time. It wrecked you and it made you stronger. You're still mad, you're still wrecked, but you're so  _strong_ . How strong do you feel right now, Starling?'

'He was an officer,' Starling said. She swallowed thickly and Graham went silent. 'A routine night patrol. He was shot.'

Lecter's upper lip twitched. He probably knew that it wasn't the whole truth. But he'd got what he wanted; information, and Starling broken down by his partner. When she looked at Graham he was just staring at her, not sharing his husband's joy. Well, not obviously, anyway.

Starling took a deep breath and shook her head. 'You got what you wanted, Mr Lecter,' she said.

Lecter's barely-there brows shot up. 'Did I?' he questioned.

'Yes,' she said. 'My father died on the job. I was young. My mother couldn't afford to keep me so I went to live with relatives.'

'Where?' Lecter demanded.

'On a farm,' Starling said.

'I like farms,' Graham mused. 'Did you have horses, Trainee Starling? Pigs? Sheep?  _Dogs_ ?'

Starling hesitated. 'Lambs and horses,' she finally said.

'My Will adores dogs,' Lecter said, apparently ignoring her last sentence. 'Jack won't tell us what became of them.' He paused to frown down at the file. 'I will tell you the man's probable whereabouts, Agent Starling. If you can find out what happened to my husband's beloved pack, I will tell you the man's name.'

Starling bristled. 'I'm not here to bargain with you, Mr Lecter.'

'That's too bad,' Lecter mused. He put the file back in the tray, shut it. 'I'm in a bargaining mood.'

Graham laughed again.

'If you come back with that information, I will tell you everything you need to know.'

'Or leave a message,' Graham snorted.

Lecter tsked. 'Don't be rude, Will.'

'I like being rude,' Graham muttered.

Lecter didn't answer him. He was staring at Starling again, waiting. Starling realised that this was his final offer; the killer's whereabouts, a name if she could find out about Graham's dogs.

She wasn't sure what could go wrong if she  _did_ attain that information. What could Lecter and Graham do with it? Maybe it would give her an in, a rapport with them. Or maybe they'd then demand more; more favours, bigger favours, until Starling was used up and tossed aside like a broken toy.

'I'll see what I can do,' she finally said.

Lecter smiled at her. 'Good girl.' Starling couldn't help the glare she shot at him. His smile widened as she reclaimed the folder. 'He isn't at a hotel, or on the streets,' Lecter said. 'He's with family or friends; they know how odd he is, they suspect what he's capable of. But they love him, and he loves them in his own way. He's in Baltimore, a nice neighbourhood. He was brought up in an area where the locals don't air their dirty laundry; they keep it all in the family, as it were.'

'He's with friends that he grew up with,' Graham murmured. Starling looked at him. He was staring across his cell, at one of the walls. 'Look at local schools, Agent Starling. Four or six children who got into trouble that slowly got worse over time, until one of the group was expelled, another withdrawn, the others silent when their friends left. There will be an accident of another student, the death of a local pet kept in the records.' He looked at her again, blinked slowly. 'If you're smart, perhaps you won't need Hannibal to part with the name.'

Starling nodded slowly, then thanked both men; Lecter said, “You're welcome,” and Graham ignored her in favour of flopping face-first onto his bunk once more, apparently done with her. Starling stood for a while, looking between the two. When Lecter went back to his desk, eyes on his sketch, Starling left.

She didn't breathe until she was walking down the stairs, the orderlies either side of her. The couples' presence didn't leave her until she was out of the building and in her car.

 

{oOo}

 

Will rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. It was grey. 'You have a plan,' he said.

'I always have plans, Will,' Hannibal replied. Will rolled again, onto his front, and propped his head up. Hannibal was sitting at his desk sketching.

'Want to share?' he asked.

Hannibal smiled but didn't look up. 'That would be telling.'

Will laughed. 'Soon?' he questioned. 'Years? Months? What am I looking at here?'

Hannibal's pencil paused, and he tapped it against his fingers. Finally he lifted his head and caught Will's eyes, brown-red meeting blue; catching, holding,  _sharing_ .

Will grinned.  _Soon it is_ , he thought and buried his face in his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** So, people, I finally got a job- yay! I have training for the rest of the week, but I'll hopefully still reply to all your comments and get the next chapter posted sometime tomorrow. If not, I'll get it all updated on the weekend.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Dreamer


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Hey guys! Sorry about the wait, but training is both longer and more intense then I thought it'd be. But I should be able to post the next chapter either tomorrow or the next day. Thank you for your patience and understanding, and also for the continued support- I really appreciate it :)
> 
> Now, on with the story. Enjoy!
> 
> Dreamer

Clarice Starling knocked on Jack Crawford's office door the following morning. The man was seated behind his desk, but stood when he waved Starling in.

'What did you find out from Lecter and Graham?' Crawford asked.

She'd called him when she left the BSHCI, but had left a message on his machine; the man hadn't called her back.

'Our killer was a one-time patient of Lecter's,' Starling said.

Crawford sighed heavily and sank back into his seat. 'Of course he was,' he muttered. 'Do you know how many serial killers we linked back to Hannibal Lecter?'

Starling shrugged one shoulder.

'Six,' he said. 'Six men that Lecter treated, or had a hand in treating. All of whom were pushed further into their psychosis by that man.'

Starling just nodded; Crawford liked ranting about Lecter, sometimes. It always fell into bitter words and half-formed curses.

'Anyway,' he shook his head, 'continue.'

'I assumed that Lecter didn't keep any records of the killer, because they only met once,' Starling said. 'Lecter told me that he didn't have the time to treat the man and... help him grow.' Crawford looked at her. 'He basically said that he couldn't be bothered; the killer was too blunt, too... artistically challenged, I suppose.'

Crawford snorted. 'His murders aren't good enough for the cannibal, huh?' He leaned back in his seat and linked his fingers over his stomach. 'Anything else?'

Starling nodded and handed over the notes she'd made. Crawford flicked through the pages that Starling had transcribed, lingering on certain things; Starling wondered if he was reading what Lecter and Graham had said about him.

'He knows the killer's name?' Crawford finally asked.

'He said that he does,' Starling said. 'But he won't tell me-'

'Unless we tell them what happened to Graham's dogs,' Crawford interrupted. 'And we're not going to do that.'

Starling's eyebrows shot up and she leaned forward in her seat. 'Sir?'

'I'm not sending you back in there unless it's absolutely necessary,' Crawford said.

'But, sir, they know the killer's name,' Starling argued. 'We could find him today.'

'No,' Crawford shook his head. 'Starling, you have to remember who these men are. They want to know where Graham's dogs are? Why?'

'I-' Starling hesitated. She didn't know the answer.

'Exactly,' Crawford said. He tossed her papers onto his desk. 'There's a reason why they want to know, but _we_ don't know it. There's always a reason, Starling. Lecter never does anything without thinking it through carefully. There's something else that they want, something they're working towards getting.' He shook his head. 'I'm not sending you back there.'

' _Sir_ ,' Starling stressed again, 'I can handle myself.' Crawford raised his eyebrows, and she sighed slightly. 'They're... something else entirely,' she admitted, 'but I _can_ handle myself. They were mostly polite and helpful, if somewhat... manipulative.'

Crawford muttered something at her last word, but Starling didn't catch it.

'Whatever angle they're working,' Starling continued, 'I won't let them complete it. I'll tell them where Graham's dogs ended up, get the killer's name, and leave. There are other killers we can consult.'

Crawford looked up at her, and Starling got the feeling that they were thinking the same thing;  _there are other killers, but none as good as Graham and Lecter._

They stared at each other for another minute, at least, before Crawford shook his head. 'No, Starling.' She leaned back in her seat and tried not to scowl. 'We have enough information here,' he said, tapped her notes, 'to track the guy down. If we can't find him in three days, you can go back and tell Graham what happened to his dogs. If not, you never contact Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham again.'

Starling mulled that over, but realised that she didn't really have much of a choice; Crawford was her superior, was the man who could get her out of the Academy and into a great career. She nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

'Good,' Crawford grunted. He shuffled her papers together and handed them over. 'I'm gonna call Zeller, Price and Jacobsen. Meet us in office 3 in half-an-hour, we'll start putting another profile together.'

Starling nodded and stood as Crawford reached for his desk phone. She hesitated briefly before leaving, not wanting to push the older agent. As she left the office, heading down the hall towards office 3, she wondered if they could really catch the killer without going back to Lecter and Graham.

For some reason, she doubted it. Lecter had seemed pretty sure that she'd return at some point.

 

{oOo}

 

They tracked Simon O'Neill to a house not far from the former home of Doctor Hannibal Lecter. It was huge, not surprising given the neighbourhood, and the door opened before the S.W.A.T team could get out of the van.

Crawford was already out, shotgun in hand, and he raised it when the young blond man spotted them. 'Put your hands in the air and get to the ground!' he barked.

The man did as asked, as did the others in the house when they came rushing out to see what was happening. There were six in total- five men and one woman. After the house had been cleared, Starling stepped up behind Crawford to survey the people they'd sat on the front porch, all handcuffed.

None of them was Simon O'Neill.

'Where is Simon O'Neill?' Crawford demanded.

One of the men hung his head. The woman gulped thickly. 'Simon did something, didn't he?' she asked.

'We have reasons to believe that he's responsible for the deaths of six people,' Crawford said.

The woman sobbed.

'I knew it,' the blond grunted. 'He's been acting real weird for the last, like...'

'Three years at least,' another man interrupted, hair flopping into his face.

Starling looked at him. 'How do you mean?' she asked.

'He was always... different,' the man said. 'But lately, he's been sayin' stuff.'

'Dark stuff,' the blond said.

'Just about us, about people,' the dark-haired man continued. 'A week ago he said he was gonna skin me 'cause I was a lamp and I should _look_ like a lamp.'

Starling swallowed. The woman on the ground sobbed.

'What's your name?' Crawford asked.

The blond looked up at him. 'Daniel,' he said, 'Daniel Scott.'

'Adrian Brooke,' the dark-haired man added.

The others were introduced as Sally, Patrick, Mikhail, and Zach. They'd all gone to school with Simon O'Neill.

'When was the last time you saw him?' Crawford demanded.

'Last night,' Patrick said. 'He started freaking out and throwing things, said he needed to figure out what he was.'

'He grabbed a knife,' Mikhail added. 'Started waving it around. We were scared, man. We told him to get out.'

'Do you know where he is?' Starling asked.

Mikhail shrugged, and Daniel said, 'We really don't know. Simon's parents died five years ago. He's been in and out of apartments. He stayed with Sally for a few months, then Patrick.'

'And he was recently staying with you?' Crawford said, directing the question at Adrian Brooke.

Adrian nodded. 'He said he needed a place to crash for a few months, then he'd be gone.' He gulped. 'He seemed pretty sure that he'd be gone for good.'

Crawford growled and looked away from them to Starling. 'Take them in,' he ordered. 'We'll get all their statements and track O'Neill again.'

Starling nodded and helped Daniel and Adrian stand.

'Are we in trouble?' Daniel asked, sounding close to hysterics.

'We'll see what happens after we talk,' Starling said.

 

{oOo}

 

Hannibal was in his mind palace when he heard the distinct steps of Trainee Agent Clarice Starling. He waited a moment, let the music soften to its climax, before he opened his eyes. Will was asleep in his cell, facing the wall, and he didn't shift as Hannibal stood from his own bunk.

'Good afternoon, Agent Starling.'

'Mr Lecter,' the young woman replied.

None of Hannibal's ire showed in his fake smile. The woman was walking a thin line and seemed only half-aware of it. While Hannibal respected her for sticking to her convictions, he couldn't help but imagine himself taking a scalpel to her throat. He might cut her elsewhere first, though. He could make beautiful art with her pale skin and wavy hair.

'What can I do for you?' Hannibal asked, ever the polite host, even when he was, technically, a guest at the Baltimore State Hospital.

'We found Simon O'Neill's current residence,' Starling told him.

Hannibal gave her a small smirk. 'I see,' he said. 'Are you here to tell me that you solved the case and caught the killer, Agent Starling?' He let his eyes narrow. 'Or was there something else that you need?'

Starling swallowed thickly; Hannibal watched her throat work. 'Simon O'Neill's whereabouts are currently unknown,' she said what Hannibal already knew. 'We were hoping that you could help us track him down.'

'We?' Hannibal drawled. He took a few steps to the right so that he could circle his desk slowly. 'Who is  _we_ , exactly, Agent Starling?'

Starling's lips pressed into a thin line, but she said, 'Agent Crawford and his team.'

'I see.' Hannibal almost laughed at the look she gave him. Starling clearly had a lot of respect for Jack Crawford; respect that, unfortunately, Hannibal didn't share. Jack had pushed his dear, sweet Will; had almost broken him before Hannibal got a chance to do it himself. The man was brash and blunt, he lacked any finesse. Also, he was the reason Hannibal and Will were currently back within the walls of the BSH.

One day Hannibal hoped to cause Jack's demise. He had tried before and failed. He wouldn't next time.

'I believe that I have already made you an offer, Agent Starling,' Hannibal said. He turned and walked back to his desk, slid onto the seat bolted to the floor. 'I will not part with what I know until you part with what you know.'

Starling gulped again, but Hannibal looked away this time. He pulled his most recent sketch towards himself and picked up a pencil.

'Mr Lecter,' Starling said.

Hannibal ignored her completely. He would not compromise on this; it was vital to his plan. Starling had to tell him what had happened to Will's dear pack. After that, well... _It may work_ , Hannibal mused. Half of the fun was in the unknown.

'Mr Lecter,' Starling said again. She took a breath, let it out slowly. Hannibal finally deigned to raise his head; Starling was staring at him, fire in her eyes. Hannibal would enjoy plucking them from their sockets. 'I know what happened to your husband's pets.'

Hannibal put his pencil aside and stood. 'One moment, please, Agent Starling.' She frowned at him but said nothing. Hannibal walked to the far corner of his cell and leaned against the wall. 'Will!'

Will bolted up immediately, turning to face Hannibal, eyes immediately alert and body tense. He relaxed somewhat when he realised that Starling was back. 'Hannibal,' Will yawned, 'is there a reason you woke me from my nap?'

Hannibal smiled at Starling. 'Will tires easily when we discuss certain things.'

'Mm,' Will hummed and rubbed at his neck. 'I still need fresh underwear.'

Hannibal almost laughed at the revolted look on Starling's face. As it was, he just smiled pleasantly when Starling's eyes found him once more.

'Well?' Hannibal prompted.

'What's going on?' Will asked when Starling turned to him, her back to Hannibal. Hannibal wondered if she was shivering, beneath that steel exterior.

'The FBI tracked down Simon O'Neill,' Starling said.

Will's brow furrowed and he looked past her at Hannibal. Hannibal smiled brightly at him, and Will laughed

'Of course,' the former profiler muttered. 'What else, Trainee Starling?'

Hannibal enjoyed when Will poked at people; he saw Starling's shoulders stiffen ever so slightly.

'He was gone before we got there,' Starling said. 'And we need help finding him again.'

'And the FBI can't do it themselves?' Will drawled. 'Is Jack getting slack in his old age?'

Starling inhaled sharply, exhaled slowly. In, out, in, out. 'We can,' she said, and Hannibal was sure that it was only a partial lie; Starling truly believed in the FBI, in Jack Crawford and his team. 'However, I want to catch him before he kills again. Any information you or your husband can give us would be greatly appreciated.'

'And what's in it for us?' Will asked, as always cutting straight to the point. He'd slouched back on his bunk, shoes tapping against the concrete.

'I know what happened to your dogs,' Starling told him.

Will perked up at that; sat straight, turned to face Starling and gave her his complete attention. Starling almost took a step back, but stopped herself at the last second; one of her shoes slid across the floor before it steadied itself.

'Where are they?' Will demanded.

Starling opened the folder she was carrying- did she ever come empty-handed, Hannibal mused- and read from a sheet of paper; 'Winston, Lulu, Buster and Applesauce all live with your neighbours, Mr and Mrs Evans. Jay and Alex are with your ex-wife, Molly, and her son. Rusty passed away from old age, and Lily from heart failure.'

She looked up when she was done and Hannibal focused on Will. Despite this being part of Hannibal's plan, he knew that Will truly missed his dogs. He didn't react to Molly's name, seeming not to care about the woman any more. Hannibal knew that that wasn't completely true; Molly had been a good companion for Will, her son Will's own without the added worry of the boy inheriting any of Will's darker personality traits.

But that was all in the past, as Will had told Hannibal when they'd run after killing Dolarhyde. Molly was too good for Will; too _pure_. Will couldn't be the man that she needed, that she had loved, not any more; he was Hannibal's, now. Always had been. He just hadn't realised how completely he belonged to Hannibal.

And how completely Hannibal belonged to him.

'Thank you,' Will said, stumbling slightly over his words. 'Thank you, Agent Starling,' he said after taking a breath. When he looked up at the woman, there was real gratitude in his eyes.

'Yes, Agent Starling,' Hannibal agreed. 'You have lifted a great deal of worry from my husband's shoulders. I will help you in any way I can.'

Starling shut the folder and turned her focus back on Hannibal. 'Where is Simon O'Neill, Mr Lecter?'

Hannibal tilted his head at her. 'I honestly don't know,' he said.

Starling glared at him. 'Then how can you help me?' she demanded.

'I can't,' Hannibal said. 'My husband, on the other hand...'

Slowly, Starling glanced over her shoulder. Will had an easy, infectious grin on his face. His entire body was slack, demeanour easy and...  _fluffy_ , was the only word Hannibal could think of.

'Excuse me?' Starling finally said.

Will's smile brightened that bit more. 'Would you like to borrow my imagination, Agent Starling?' he asked.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Here we are, second last chapter! Thanks for all your continued support and understanding of my new job requirements. I should be able to post the last chapter tomorrow due to my shift schedule. Also, I've added some graphic violence in the next chapter (chapter six), so please take note of the warning changes.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Dreamer

It took two weeks for Jack Crawford to cave; fourteen days and five more bodies, courtesy of Simon O'Neill. It was clear to Starling- to the rest of his team- that Crawford didn't want to do this. The last time he had let a killer out, he'd escaped and taken another one with him.

Starling was positive that it wouldn't happen this time; only Graham would be let out, and he'd be strapped to a trolley, arms pinned to his stomach by a straight-jacket. Even his mouth would be covered until he was needed to speak.

Hannibal Lecter would remain in his cell. He was never allowed out of the BSHCI unless there was a serious emergency. The BSHCI had a fully functioning hospital room and operating theatre. Even if Lecter was dying he would remain within the BSH's walls.

He was too dangerous to be let out.

Graham, on the other hand, had constantly been on his best behaviour; he'd been nothing but pleasant, quiet, during his first stay, back when Lecter had framed him. His second stay had been even better, his mood cheerier. Starling was pretty sure that it was because Graham had his husband with him.

'Back again, Agent Starling,' Dr Chen said. He was coming from Lecter and Graham's cells and met Starling at the foot of the stairs.

'Yes,' Starling said. 'Is everything alright, Dr Chen?'

The man nodded. 'Yes, yes. Lecter wanted to make a phone call to his agent, even though his phone hours are six am to nine am. I allowed it and just brought him back.'

'Why did you allow it?' Starling asked.

'Good behaviour,' Dr Chen said with a shrug. 'Sometimes the little things make them easier to manage.'

Starling frowned. 'I thought that Lecter and Graham were model prisoners?'

'Yes, most of the time,' Dr Chen said, nodding. 'However, when Graham gets in his moods, Dr Lecter gets in a mood, and it's not good for my staff.' He shivered ever so slightly, and Starling decided that she didn't want to know what Lecter was like when _in a mood_. 'Anyway,' the man cleared his throat and smiled at her, 'Graham's asleep and Lecter's in his cell.'

'Can we wake him?' Starling asked. 'Everything's set up downstairs, we're just awaiting your signature.' That was why she'd come up here; they were moving Graham today, taking him to Simon O'Neill's former residence.

'He should wake easily; or Lecter will wake him,' Dr Chen said. 'Go ahead.' He moved aside and continued on, not looking back as Starling climbed the stairs.

She found Graham and Lecter as Dr Chen had described them; the former asleep, sprawled as best he could across his narrow back, Lecter at his desk writing in a leather-bound notebook.

'Good morning, Agent Starling,' Lecter greeted without looking up.

'Mr Lecter,' she replied. 'Is your husband ready?'

'In a minute,' Lecter replied. He finished writing something and signed the end of the page with a flourish. He then closed the notebook and placed it at the side of his desk, his pen atop it. Like two weeks before, Lecter stood and walked to the far end of his cell to call his partner's name.

It took slightly longer for Graham to wake this time, but when he did he smiled softly at Lecter and tried the same with Starling. 'Time to go?' Graham asked through a yawn. He rubbed his eyes as Starling said yes.

She phoned downstairs and four orderlies came up. Graham had to lay on the floor, arms and legs spread while two orderlies searched him and the others watched from a safe distance. When they found nothing Graham was wrapped in a straight-jacket and tied to the trolley, his face masked last of all with plastic.

'Be good, my dear,' Lecter told Graham. 'I shall see you soon.'

Graham just looked at his husband, unable to respond verbally. Starling glanced between the two before approaching Lecter. 'Thank you for your cooperation,' she said.

Lecter smiled at her. 'And thank you for all of your help, Agent Starling.'

His smile wasn't right; didn't fit his mouth, the words he was uttering. Starling didn't know why, and quite frankly didn't  _want_ to know why. As soon as Simon O'Neill was found and caught Graham would be returned to his cell. And Starling could turn her back on him, on Hannibal Lecter, and never speak to them again. She'd rather flounder through a case then get their help, she realised.

She could walk away before they broke her like they had so many agents before her.

'You're welcome, Mr Lecter,' Starling said.

'Goodbye, Agent Starling,' was Lecter's reply.

She felt Lecter's eyes on her, long after she'd left the building.

 

{oOo}

 

Starling road in the back of the van with Will Graham. Crawford had taken an SUV with Zeller and Price, and Starling tried to keep her annoyance of off her face; while she understood that Crawford wanted “one of his team” with Graham, she didn't see why it had to be her. Zeller should have just sucked it up and ridden with Graham.

Muffled noises from the middle of the van drew Starling's attention and she looked up to see Graham staring at her. His blue eyes were bright in the dim interior of the van, and the FBI agents were all staring from him to Starling as he said something else, voice muffled by the hockey mask.

Starling sighed and said, 'Take it off. Let's see what he wants.'

It wouldn't do to have Graham suffocate on their way to the suspect's house, after all.

One of the agent's to Graham's right reached up and quickly removed the mask.

Graham took a deep breath and stretched his jaw; 'Thank you,' he murmured.

'How can I help you, Mr Graham?' Starling asked.

He sighed and rolled his neck. 'Tell me, Trainee Agent Starling,' he said, 'have you spent a lot of time in the back of vans?'

Starling's jaw twitched with how hard she was gritting her teeth.

'Business or pleasure?' Graham then added.

'Business,' she nearly growled.

Graham's lips quirked upward as he set his gaze on her. 'Well,' he mused, 'unless the pleasure _was_ business.' She couldn't help the glare she levelled with him, and Graham chuckled softly. 'Not pleasure, then,' he said. 'But you got a certain _kind_ of pleasure out of it, didn't you? Let me guess...' He hummed, and Starling got the feeling that he didn't have to _guess_ anything. 'At least one or two training scenarios, hmm?' Graham continued. 'The FBI can't send you out into the field with _zero_ field experience. I think that was Jack's mistake with me.

'Of course, I  _was_ a cop before I became an FBI agent. And I got shot,' he added.

'You weren't technically a field agent,' Starling muttered.

She realised her mistake too late; saw it in the gleam of Graham's eyes, the joy barely hidden behind blue irises. What had Crawford drilled into her head? What had Dr Chen warned her?

Graham and Lecter liked to play games.

And here Starling was, playing a goddamn game with one of them.

'True,' Graham allowed, 'but I still have more field experience than you. Even caught myself a few murderers.' He licked his lips. 'I caught one of them  _really_ well.' He smiled brightly at her. 'But we were talking about you, Trainee Starling. So... mostly fake field work, of course; the FBI has to test how you'll react to certain things. But there were one or two occasions where you were working  _actual_ cases; real live cases. But why'd they pick you?' he wondered, tilted his head.

'Surely the FBI has enough  _real agents_ to use... oh.' His smile waned. 'You're strong, aren't you? We've talked about that. Top of most of your classes, fighting spirit, courage in the face of danger and all that. Or... were you just available? Put yourself out there to be used, so they used you.  _Why not use Starling,_ they said.  _She'll do anything for a leg up. Likes whoring herself out, that one. Use her and put her back almost-new_ .'

'I'm one of the top trainees at the Academy!' Starling snapped, unable to handle the  _look_ on his face, the drawl his voice had taken on when impersonating the FBI agents whom he wouldn't know, unable to deal with that smug goddamn  _smile_ playing at his lips.

There was a beat of silence, Graham and Starling staring at one another,the FBI agents glancing between the two.

And then Graham  _laughed_ . A full-belly laugh that had the trolley he was strapped to shaking. His arms strained against the straight-jacket wrapped around his torso, and he tossed his head back with the force of his mirth, shaking it from side-to-side.

Starling ground her teeth at the knowledge that Graham had gotten exactly what he wanted; a rise out of her.

'Put the mask back on!' she growled at one of the agents.

He complied, and Graham allowed it. He still shook with his muffled laughter.

 

{oOo}

 

Graham was unloaded from the van and wheeled inside Simon O'Neill's former residence. Sally, Patrick and Adrian were home, but they'd been forced outside while Graham... did his thing.

'Where's his bedroom?' Graham asked when the mask was removed.

'Upstairs,' Starling said. She'd poured over the case notes the night before. 'Why?'

'I need to see it,' Graham said. He grinned sharply at Crawford. 'Would you like to help me off of this trolley, Jack? And remove the jacket; I can't concentrate all cooped up like this.'

When Crawford just stared at him, Graham smiled again.

'Or I can just head back to the hospital,' he said. 'And Simon O'Neill can keep killing.'

Crawford ground his teeth; Starling saw his jaw working. 'Fine,' he eventually spat out and gestured to two of the FBI agents with them. They unlatched Graham from the trolley and loosened the straight-jacket, watching Graham like a hawk. Then Graham stretched his arms out and groaned but didn't try anything before he was led upstairs. Starling stopping in the doorway of the large room O'Neill had once inhabited while Crawford dragged Graham in, the agents lurking in the hallway.

Graham looked around for a beat before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He just stood there, head tilted a bit, seeing whatever it was that nobody else could. Five minutes passed. Six. Then, finally, Graham gasped and stumbled back. There was a dresser in his way and he practically fell over it, eyes wide open and breathing ragged.

Crawford was immediately on him, jerking Graham upright. He glared at the killer, but Graham didn't seem to care.

'He was sleeping with one of his friends,' Graham said. He was frowning, now. 'A man, blond. They kept a separate apartment; the lover has it, he's not out of control like O'Neill. He kept it hidden because he didn't want the others to know that he's gay. Someone has to know, though. A work colleague, his parents, _someone_.' Graham turned as best he could. 'Find the blond, the apartment, and you'll find O'Neill.'

 

{oOo}

 

'You wanted to see me, Dr Lecter?' Dr Chen asked.

Hannibal smiled at the other psychiatrist, body language as pleasant as you please. 'I believe that Will and I had some time scheduled together.'

Dr Chen frowned at him. 'Yes, for this afternoon...' He checked his watch. 'For now, actually,' he corrected himself. 'But Mr Graham isn't here.'

'No,' Hannibal agreed, 'but that doesn't mean that I can't go to the room myself, does it?'

Dr Chen's frown deepened as he said, 'You want to visit the room you and your husband use for your conjugal visits... alone?'

Hannibal nodded. 'Some time alone is a good thing, Dr Chen. And I would prefer some... privacy.' He ducked his head slightly, heard Dr Chen inhale sharply.

'I-I see,' the other man stuttered. 'Well, Dr Lecter, I-'

'Please?' Hannibal interrupted.

Dr Chen pursed his lips, but then he sighed. 'Very well,' he said. 'You _are_ scheduled to be out of your cell, and if you want to spent your visit alone...'

'I do,' Hannibal said. 'My dear William will forgive me, I'm sure.'

Dr Chen gave him a strange look, but Hannibal said nothing more as the orderlies were called.

 

{oOo}

 

Crawford had immediately targeted Daniel Scott's friends; Sally, Patrick and Adrian were carted back to Quantico. None of them knew where Daniel was, or anything about his supposed apartment. Crawford went to chase a lead while Starling was told to interview the three friends over and over again; Graham was taken back to the Baltimore State Hospital with a few agents guarding him.

'Where's Daniel, Adrian?' Starling asked, and not for the first time.

Adrian shrugged helplessly. 'I don't know!' he said. 'I don't... he got a call today and just vanished. Said he had better things to do than to wait around for Simon to... to kill us, or something.'

Starling sat up straight. 'You didn't mention a call last time, Adrian.'

'I... oh.' He wilted under her glare. 'I'm sorry,' he insisted, sounding truly repentant. 'This whole thing has been crazy, okay? First you people say that Simon's a serial killer, and now Daniel's fucking him and probably hiding him? I don't... Jesus, this entire thing is messed up!'

Starling let him ramble for a bit before asking, 'Who was the call from?'

'I dunno,' Adrian said. 'I answered the phone and it was some guy with a foreign accent; he said he needed to speak to Daniel immediately. I passed the phone off and Daniel talked to him for... I dunno, two or three minutes? Then he packed some stuff and took off!'

Starling was frozen to her seat, staring at Adrian. She wasn't aware that she'd moved until her cellphone was pressed to her ear, ringing.

' _Dr Chen's office, how may I help you?_ ' Chen's assistant answered.

'I need to speak to Dr John Chen immediately,' Starling said. 'Tell him that it's Agent Clarice Starling and it's urgent.'

' _Of course, Agent Starling_ .' There was a pause, and then;

' _John Chen speaking. What is it, Agent Starling?_ '

'You said that Lecter made a phone call today,' Starling said, her heart already pounding.

' _Yes_ .'

'What time?' Starling asked.

She heard the rustling of papers, and then Dr Chen said, ' _10:12 am. The phone call lasted for one and a half minutes_ .'

Starling's eyes shot to Adrian. 'What time, exactly, did Daniel get the phone call?'

'I, uh...' Adrian frowned at her. 'I don't know, exactly. Maybe just after ten?' He frowned. 'Yeah, 'cause Sally went to get coffee. She said that Patrick was lazy for sleeping past ten.'

Starling was already on her feet and rushing through the door, shouting into her cell. 'Dr Chen, you need to go see Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham immediately. Lecter called one of the suspects in the case I'm working and warned him. '

' _I... what?_ ' Dr Chen spluttered. ' _Dr Lecter's in the rooms we use for his and Graham's conjugal visits and Graham isn't back yet_ .' Starling froze halfway down the hallway.

'What?' she asked. 'Why isn't Lecter in his cell? And where's Will Graham?'

' _They had a conjugal scheduled for today; they get them every three weeks_ ,' Dr Chen explained. ' _Lecter said he wanted some privacy in the room, even without his husband. Graham hasn't been returned yet. We got a call saying that they were on their way, then another a few minutes later saying that Crawford needed Graham for something else. That was over an hour ago_ .'

Shit. Shit, shit,  _shit_ . They must have planned this thing entirely- but to what end? What did Lecter hope would happen? Even if Graham managed to escape, Lecter was still...

'Go get Lecter, Dr Chen,' Starling ordered, 'put him back in his cell immediately.'

' _I_ -' His voice was drowned out by an alarm, loud and blaring from his end of the call. Starling felt her blood run cold.

'What's that, Dr Chen?' she shouted to be heard.

' _The alarm_ ,' Dr Chen said, sounding worried.

'What kind of alarm?' Starling demanded.

' _I, um... the alarm for-_ ' He paused. ' _The alarm for when an inmate escapes._ '

Starling swore and hung up quickly; she needed to call Crawford.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** This is where the "graphic violence" tag comes in.

Will didn't have the exact time, but he knew that he was about halfway back to the hospital. He fingered the utility knife he'd swiped from Simon O'Neill's room, humming behind his mask. A few quick slashes, a stolen gun, and he'd be gone.

He tilted his head to the side, eyeing the closest FBI agent. The man was staring at his partner's shoes, alert but not quite watching Will. A glance to the left showed the same thing. _Tsk_ , Will thought, _what is the FBI teaching its agents these days?_

Will kept his eyes on the agents as he freed one hand, then the other. They really weren't paying attention to him, because by the time he'd slid his arms down and cut at the straps keeping him pinned to the trolley they had only just begun to realise that something was wrong.

Will threw himself at the agent to his right, his utility knife easily sinking into the man's neck. Will ripped it sideways and blood spurted up and out of his skin, spraying across Will's face and jumpsuit. Will didn't stop to watch the man die, too busy killing his partner; this one got his gun out, a shot off, but it went wide and hit the wall of the van.

There was a shout from the front seats, but Will ignored it in favour of wrestling the FBI agent to the floor and slitting his throat. As he laid bleeding to death, gurgling for breath, Will grabbed his gun, aimed at the partition that separated the front of the van from the back, and fired.

Six shots aimed somewhere at the driver were enough; the van swerved to the left, hit dirt and a ditch. Will was tossed into the partition, the trolley remaining fixed to the middle of the van. There was a _crunch_ , a ringing in Will's ears, and the van stopped.

He was dazed, and his head throbbed, but Will didn't have time to wait; he unlocked the back of the van and stumbled out onto the grass.

The passenger door opened and the last FBI agent crawled out. His head was bleeding, and his gaze was unfocused as he blearily aimed his gun at Will. Will raised his own and pulled the trigger-

They fired at the same time, and Will felt white-hot pain in his shoulder. He didn't let that deter him, firing over and over again until the agent dropped to the ground, dead, his torso a canvas of blood and gore. Will approached slowly, finger still on the trigger, and kicked the agent for good measure; nope, definitely dead.

'Well then,' Will mused and looked down at his right arm. The bullet had just grazed him, tearing open his jumpsuit and skin. He'd need stitches, but Hannibal could deal with that when they met up. Will smiled and stepped over the agent to climb back into the van. There was a cellphone on the floor, jammed under the dead driver's foot. Will grabbed it and dialled the BSH.

' _You've reached the Baltimore Sate Hospital for the Criminally Insane_ ,' a perky voice answered after a few rings. ' _This is Dr Chen's office, how may I help you?_ '

''Ello,' Will drawled, adopting the accent of the driver. 'This is Agent deVally. Can I talk to Dr Chen?'

' _Of course_ ,' the woman replied. ' _One moment, please_ .'

There was a pause, and then;

' _Dr Chen speaking. How can I help you, Agent deVally?_ '

Will smirked. 'We're gonna be a little late on gettin' Graham back, Doc. Agent Crawford needs 'im for somethin'.'

 

{oOo}

 

Dr Chen didn't feel like straight-jackets were necessary when the inmates- even Hannibal and Will- were moved about the hospital. Hannibal's hands were simply cuffed behind his back, two orderlies walking either side of him.

The rooms used for conjugal visits were past the staff break room, at the end of the floor; Hannibal knew from all the times he'd been walked by. He always kept his eyes open, listened and breathed to see the hospital's weak points. As the orderlies moved him past the room, Hannibal paused.

'I'm sorry,' he said to the one on his left- Glenn, he believed. 'But can you get me a cup of water?' The orderly hesitated. 'I won't accept it until I'm in the room, uncuffed, and locked in,' Hannibal added.

Glenn glanced over Hannibal's head- at his partner. Hannibal didn't turn around. Finally Glenn nodded and turned, using a keycard on his belt to open the double-doors. He stepped inside and the other orderly moved Hannibal back a few steps so that he could watch his partner and Hannibal at the same time.

Hannibal had already slid one of Will's fishing lures into his hand. The cuffs unlocked with a near-silent click, and Hannibal didn't hesitate; he dug the handcuff's single strand into the orderly's neck, pulling until the man's throat tore and blood sprayed the wall. Hannibal kicked the dying man back and into the room, where the other one was turning.

Glenn dropped the paper cup of water he was holding and reached for his mace, but Hannibal was already stalking across the room. Glenn backed up and slammed his hand onto one of the panic buttons mounted on the wall before Hannibal could kill him. Lights started flashing and a piercing alarm deafened them both; it made the orderly fumble with his mace, hand trying to grab his baton at the same time.

It led to his death, Hannibal easily wrapping an arm around Glenn's neck and _twisting_. His neck snapped audibly and Hannibal dropped him. He unlocked the other handcuff before he took the orderlies' mace. When he'd straightened up he smiled and headed for the hallway; now all he had to do was get out of the building, find a car, and most importantly, _find Will_.

 

{oOo}

 

The van carrying Will Graham and four FBI agents was found on the side of the road. It had hit a tree when the agent driving was shot through the back of the head. The man in the passenger seat had managed to escape and get about two feet from the van before being gunned down. There was blood found near him, drops leading away and into the trees lining the road; he'd wounded Graham before the killer managed to escape.

Starling heard about it over the phone from Zeller, the man cursing Will Graham between every sentence. Starling was more focused on the room before her, its doors held open. The doors were awash with blood, streaks going almost to the ceiling; it had dried, now, crusting on the brown paint.

Lecter was gone, having escaped through a back entrance a bit further down. The team investigating wasn't sure exactly how he'd gotten off of the grounds, yet. All they knew was that Lecter was gone; Graham, too.

Starling hung up when Zeller cursed his former colleague once more. She shoved her cell into her pocket and took a step back from the elevator.

Dr Chen was sitting in a chair down the hall, head in his hands. Starling sat on the floor beside him.

'Do you blame yourself, Agent Starling?' he asked after a beat, voice muffled.

Starling didn't want to lie; 'Yes.'

He laughed. 'I let Lecter out.'

'I let Graham out,' she countered.

Dr Chen nodded slightly.

'They would have gotten out eventually,' she decided. All they'd needed was the right circumstances; Starling had provided them. She'd been a pawn in their game, just like Crawford had warned her. They'd played her expertly.

Dr Chen breathed out shakily. 'Now I know why my two predecessors quit,' he said.

'Do you think they'll come after you?' Starling questioned.

'No,' Dr Chen said. 'I'm not important enough.' He turned to look at her, the warning clear in his eyes; _but you might be_.

Starling didn't say a word; didn't move, not even when her cell trilled in her pocket. She just sat and stared at the wall, Dr Chen doing the same beside her.

 

{oOo}

 

Hannibal pulled the flat cap he'd bought lower over his forehead as a car pulled in beside his at the filling station. The engine was switched off and a door opened, slammed shut. Hannibal kept his eyes on the numbers steadily ticking upwards, the tank almost full. And then someone was leaning against the car beside him, shifting from foot-to-foot.

Hannibal opened his mouth, prepared to kill if it was a police officer, lie if it was someone who recognised him, or brush the person off if they had a question. The words died in his throat, however, when his red-brown eyes found the bright blues of his husband.

Will was smirking at him. 'Couldn't smell me, Dr Lecter?' he questioned.

Hannibal licked his lips before saying, 'You no longer wear that atrocious aftershave that I always associated with you.'

'I stopped wearing that when I met Molly,' Will commented, a frown on his face.

Hannibal smirked. 'Your new choice was no better, dear Will.'

Will rolled his eyes and fisted a hand in Hannibal's jacket as he said, 'Get over here and kiss me.'

The former doctor allowed himself to be pulled, his body soon pressed up against Will's from chest to thighs. Will kissed him first, crushing their mouths together and immediately moaning. Hannibal licked and bit at Will's lips, sucked on the younger man's tongue when Will finally opened his mouth. Kissing here, in the open, no jumpsuits or locked doors or people watching their every move... it was heavenly, addictive, and Hannibal promised himself in that moment that he would  _never_ let his Will go again. He would die before he was locked up again, separated from his husband...

Or he'd insist on a joint cell. It wasn't like he and Will were a danger to each other; not any more.

They broke apart only when breathing became necessary, and Hannibal stared at Will's lips when Will bit the bottom one.

'So...' Will mused. 'Going my way?' He added a cocked eyebrow, a cheeky little smile, and Hannibal laughed. He laughed until Will kissed him again, sounds muffled by each other's lips.

 

{oOo}

 

The FBI found Daniel Scott and Simon O'Neill four days later. Both had been murdered and positioned over the body of one of O'Neill's victims... or Scott's, rather, tests later showed. Blood under Scott's fingernails belonged to the third victim, and it had been found that O'Neill had done nothing more than sit in the corner before he was murdered.

Daniel Scott was the real killer, always had been. Had played O'Neill, perhaps; used their relationship to buy himself an accomplice and an alibi. Like Lecter had before him.

Only Scott and O'Neill were dead at the hands of Lecter and Graham, who had disappeared completely. Starling sat at her desk staring at the reports before her. She was in her home, because she didn't have an office at the BAU; never would, maybe, after this clusterfuck of a case. Crawford was storming around like an angry bear, and even Starling had scuttled out of his way.

Starling realised that Lecter must have known that Daniel Scott was the real killer. She could remember the look on his face after she'd said Simon O'Neill's name- the look that Starling wouldn't exactly call surprise, but what might have been surprise for a psychopath. And then Graham, later, staring past her and at Lecter when O'Neill was mentioned; laughing when he realised that the FBI was hunting the wrong man.

Lecter had known. Had warned Scott. And later, he'd hunted the man and his lover down.

Starling's room-mate shouted that dinner was ready from down the hall, but Starling only moved to open another file. Inside were two photos; Lecter and Graham, pictures taken when they'd been brought in for murdering five people together. Both were staring at the camera, eyes dark.

They looked alive, though. So alive, even in print. Whatever had happened with Dolarhyde- whatever had happened after- had made both of them truly live for the first time. Starling was sure of it.

'Clarice! Hey, Starling!'

Starling looked up. Her room-mate, Ardelia Mapp, was leaning against the door frame.

'Dinner's ready,' Mapp repeated.

'Yes, I heard you,' Starling said. 'Sorry, I was just thinking.'

'About Lecter and Graham?' When Starling nodded, Mapp laughed. 'Girl, seriously; you need to forget them.'

'They escaped, Ardelia,' Starling reminded her. 'Because of me.'

'Eh.' Mapp shrugged. 'If it wasn't you, it would have been someone else; they'd clearly been planning this for years.' She walked further into the room. 'Don't beat yourself up, girl. Just be thankful that Lecter and Graham have, apparently, left the country. I feel safer knowing that they aren't in America.'

'Yeah,' Starling murmured. She didn't think that Lecter and Graham would come after her specifically; she was positive that she hadn't annoyed them or intrigued them _that_ much. But still... she never wanted to see either man again.

With a bit more coaxing, Mapp managed to get Starling to close the files and leave her room. She stuffed them into her desk, either to be forgotten or looked at again in the morning; obsessed over, really.

Starling sat at their small table and let Mapp feed her, smiling when the other woman made jokes in an attempt to put her in a better mood. After an hour, she managed to forget about Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.

For the night, anyway.

 

{oOo}

 

It was night in Venice and water lapped at the edges of the canals. Despite the late hour, there were still tourists wandering around the Piazza San Marco, camera flashes blinding those too close every other minute.

Hannibal would usually marvel at the beauty around him, but tonight his eyes were on his husband. Will was smiling as he stared up at the sky, at the stars visible, despite being so far away. Hannibal's eyes didn't leave his face, roamed it to catch each and every twitch, every flash of emotion that passed through Will's expressive eyes and across his face.

'Stop staring at me,' Will murmured.

Hannibal smirked. 'I enjoy staring at you, _caro_ _Guglielmo_.'

'Stop calling me Gugielmo,' was Will's next order.

' _ Caro William _ ?' Hannibal ventured. Will scowled at him. 'William,  _ ti adoro. Sei tutto per me. Mi sono infatuato di te. Ti voglio- _ '

'Okay,' Will laughed. 'Enough.'

Hannibal smiled and tugged on Will's hand, drew his partner in close until he could brush his nose through Will's chocolate curls. 'I adore you,' Hannibal breathed.

Will hummed and snuffled at Hannibal's neck. ' _ Ti voglio baciare _ ,' Will said, his Italian somewhat stilted. He hadn't picked it up completely yet, but he was getting better with each passing day.

' _ S _ _ ì _ ,' Hannibal replied and hooked his fingers under Will's jaw. Will allowed his head to be lifted easily, and his blue eyes were so very bright before they slid closed; Will pressed himself against Hannibal and wrapped his arms around Hannibal's neck. Hannibal melted into the kiss, allowed himself to become completely and utterly possessed by the man in his arms. His hands dropped to grip Will's hips and he thrust himself forward, unable- or unwilling, rather- to contain himself when he had his Will, his everything, so close.

Will groaned and the kiss deepened until their tongues touched; briefly, slickly, each chasing the other until Will drew away for breath. He hummed again and pressed his face into Hannibal's neck. 'Take me home, Hannibal,' he said.

Hannibal smiled. 'Your wish is my command.'

Will wrapped an arm around Hannibal's waist and led him out of the Piazza, the two just another couple, another set of tourists, in The Floating City.

 

{oOo}

 

Six months later Hannibal Lecter's book was published. Starling woke up to a package sitting on her desk, and when she opened it she saw Lecter's face on the cover, Graham's on the back. She glared at it for a beat before flipping it open.

 

_For Clarice_ , it read a few pages in.  _Thank you_ .

 

Starling almost put her knife through the book. Instead she placed it back in the package and tossed it out.

Halfway across the world, in a small house in Venice, Hannibal Lecter was looking at the same book. He smiled when he saw the words he had told his agent to write; the man was good, had published the book at Hannibal's insistence despite Hannibal being a fugitive once more. Not that the agent had needed much persuading; Hannibal Lecter's name was worth money once more.

Will laughed when he saw Starling's name, but when his eyes found Hannibal's there was a heat to them that had more to do with their early morning and less to do with Hannibal's games.

Hannibal caught his gaze and closed the book, pushed it aside. It would fall off of the desk later, during another bout of passion. It would remain there until Hannibal could place it on the shelf later, never to be read or looked at again.

Clarice Starling would only be remembered briefly, an amusing story to be passed between Hannibal and Will through the years.

Starling had fulfilled her purpose; they would never see her again.

 

_Fin._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** And that is all she wrote. I simply could not leave this story as a one-shot after the overwhelming support I received for the first chapter. Thank you for all of your comments and kudos, and for reading the insane things my mind comes up with.
> 
> Also, I might be adding more stories to this 'verse eventually; mostly just one-shots and drabbles. If I do so I'll keep them all together in one story to make it easier to read.
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(Podfic)Hannibal: Pushing Us Into Self-Destruction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4889905) by [Hannibible-and-The-Holy-Graham (Just_East)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_East/pseuds/Hannibible-and-The-Holy-Graham)




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